


As the mist resembles the rain

by do_it_to_julia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ageing, Anal Sex, Exile, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoilers, TROS spoilers if you squint, Tenderness, not really a redemption fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_it_to_julia/pseuds/do_it_to_julia
Summary: Years after the Order's defeat, Hux reflects on his new life.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Dopheld Mitaka
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	As the mist resembles the rain

The name of the planet doesn't matter.

It used to, long ago, when Hux's plans spanned the entire galaxy and the Unknown Regions were a distant frontier of promise. But now the name of the planet does not matter, and Hux carries two loaves of bread and a swathe of cloth home in a basket, trudging through the fallen leaves of the forest as the evening paints violet into the sky.

At fifty years old, the red of his hair has faded to auburn, with grey streaks at the temples that, according to Phel, make him look distinguished. No longer in danger of being recognized, he has shaved off his beard again recently, and the skin beneath is etched with new lines.

His knees ache as he nears the small cabin - wood and corrugated metal, with a durasteel fresher unit salvaged from a downed freighter. They've been hurting for a while, especially when it rains, and sooner or later he'll pay a visit to the local medic, but Hux suspects it's nothing more than advancing age. All things wear away over time; rank, memory, joints and sins, the good with the bad.

A voice drifts through the half-open window, with a warm light beyond.

"Taj?"

Mitaka, forty-five and slimmer than he was, his eyes creased at the edges, moves into the doorway and smiles. He reaches out for the basket.

"There you are. Long day?" he asks, and leans over to kiss him on the cheek.

"Nella's speeder broke down again," Hux explains, putting a hand on the small of Mitaka's back as he steps inside. He kisses the other man on the temple and shrugs off his worn, brown leather jacket.

They make a decent living, considering the area they live in. No government, and only the barest of economies, but the locals look after their own, and Hux's engineering skills were sorely needed. Now he spends his days repairing old technology, and his neighbors call him Taj. If any of them know who he really is, nobody's let on.

Something is already cooking on the stove. Mitaka turns off the heat and doles out two portions, a simple vegetable stew, every ingredient home-grown except the salt. Dopheld is the one who maintains the garden, when he's not tutoring children or assisting Hux with repairs; sometimes they even trade their surplus crops for other goods.

It's almost domestic, and as Hux sits down to the table in their small, cosy living area with rugs draped over each wall to keep in the warmth, he revises the thought; it _is_ domestic. They live out of two rooms and a fresher module, they rarely travel more than two miles away, and nobody fights or commands armies or makes grand plans. Perhaps somewhere else, there is war. But not here.

They chat about their respective days over dinner, and Dopheld takes care of some minor chores while Hux washes up the plates. Outside, the light is fading. Hux pulls down the blinds.

When they settle into bed, he reaches for Phel - Phel, who didn't even have to change his name to disappear, just dropped a few letters and carried on - and takes the former Lieutenant into his arms, feeling the ageing softness of his body, his receptive warmth.

In the darkness, Phel's fingers trace over the light burn scar on his chest, and then slowly downwards to its twin on his upper thigh.

"You know it's been fifteen years to the day?" he murmurs. Hux turns his head, their noses almost touching.

"You've been counting?"

"No, but Ajan showed me a news holo earlier. It had the date."

"Huh," is all Hux says. He doesn't ask about the news. If it was important, Mitaka would tell him. "Fifteen years." His arm squeezes a little tighter around his lover. Mitaka kisses him.

"I don't regret a moment of it," he whispers.

Hux kisses him back, and Mitaka moves over him, knees at either side of his hips, the hem of his nightshirt brushing Hux's stomach. They usually make love with Phel on top of him now, and tonight won't be any different, but Hux can't find it in himself to get bored of it. Each touch of Mitaka's hands is an affirmation, each kiss a reminder that he is here, and alive.

He slides his hands under Phel's nightshirt, feels the other man's abdomen recede under his touch. There's no rush, and Mitaka works him to hardness with patience, one hand on Hux's shoulder, the other between his legs. After a while Hux reaches for the jar of oil on his bedside table, and Mitaka nudges up over his body to allow Hux's hand to slip behind him, fingers delving into that comfortable, familiar warmth.

He opens for him easily, now, and kisses him softly as Hux prepares him, slow breaths catching in his throat. When he's ready, he leans back and positions himself over Hux to sink down onto his cock.

If the passion has died, then it's been replaced by something else, something gentle and content, and neither seems to mind.

Mitaka rocks atop him, gasping his pleasure in the quiet night. When he comes, Hux strokes his sides and allows him to ride out his pleasure before pulling out and stroking himself to climax between them. They keep a towel beside their bed to clean off, these days, and in the morning they'll change the sheets. But for now, Phel moves off him and settles into his arms, and Hux strokes his hair. 

Sometimes he thinks of the Hosnian system as he drifts into sleep, millions of lives burning in an instant, and it keeps him up, for a while. But more and more these days, he merely thinks about the stars, and the coming winter, and the way Mitaka's lips sometimes part in his sleep. And he thinks, _I love you_. _Whether I deserve this, or not, it's over, and we're alive, and I love you._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: 'As the Mist Resembles the Rain' by do_it_to_julia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24591070) by [peasina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasina/pseuds/peasina)




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